Where is that full moon?

I'm feeling more useless than a KFC bucket in the United Bloats of America, without the chicken. I can't put my finger on it, but its probably this laborious and seriously boring work I've got to do atm.

It could also be a total anti-climax after a weekend of thrills and pain. (weird, I thought weekends lifted spirits, they did on Monday at any rate)

Mount Washington, nineteenhundredsomethingmeters, pfft!

Can you imagine this hiker-who-doesn't-look-like-a-hiker actually climb a frikkin mountain? One can't. Scathing. Scalding, hot water, please shut the tap off before I start leaking and turning your water red.

In my dream, (cos thats what it is) there were 4 of us. We arrived in New Hampshire early-ish (it felt early-ish) on Saturday morning... It was really whacked, I dreamt I needed a piss-stop and at this weird little piss-stop, there were only vending machines and a small information kiosk. Here we picked up a map of the area. My requirement for a piss-stop vanished immediately and we were on the road again. Weird huh?

Upon closer inspection of the map, we read about a magical place called Flume Gorge. An old log-flume with some fantastic water works. (something KayCee would love to see, I thought to myself). After dangling our possessed cameras in front of our eyes and not hearing the machinations churn inside for hours, we were caught in a loop of a trail around this watery-wonderland filled with other machinationless-camera-toting-individuals. One pair of them even talked to me, it was surreal, there mouths didn't open but I could understand them!

Then we mounted our chariot once again and headed to meet the wise-old-man-of-the-mountain. Well, we avoided him actually and went to Pinkham Notch. We had seen photos of the wise-old-man-of-the-mountain anyway, and even joked about his alter-ego, wise-guy-of-the-mountain.

After handing our monopoly money over to a puckered-lipped-hotel-manager we had secured our beds for the night, but there was an insatiable need to first rid us of our afternoon. Heh, buying beer in a dream is a unique experience, I felt like I wasn't dreaming.

After throwing rocks into the river till my arms hurt (In this dream I could throw with both arms, equally well) and enjoying a collection of niceties hot off the fire, it was time to head to the slumber hovel.

How many of you dream you're sleeping?

Early that next morning, we packed our kits and got on our respective steeds. We were out for a killing, a bounty of epic-movie-based proportions. Hell yeah, that first saloon we stopped at not only had hot news of our intended prey, but a pretty darn good eggs and bacon if I might say so myself.

After a goodbye kiss from the wenches, we rode into the wilderness.

Attitude determines altitude. Well, it did on the way up. Dirt trail became shale and loose rock. Boulders sprouted, and grew. We struggled on, after shooting our horses.

At one point we stopped and turned around and witnessed creation and it was amazing! Seeing the Appalachians in all their glory is a sight to be seen, preferably from a few thousand feet up.

One more section to go, the boulders turn to sharp craggy rocks, lined with our friend Lichen. This part was tough! Each step was a step towards the summit. At this point my brain in my dream was playing mental-challenge games with me, both booing and encouraging me. MUST MAKE IT! MUST SHOW THIS BEAST WHOS BOSS! Hello, what's this? A car?! Here?!?!

Talk about an anti-climax. Every Jim, Ed and Doris was at the top of this mountain, sucking on their low-carb-snacks admiring the view. There was no flag placement, no catching a breathe of fresh air, just jostling with the sugar-toting-sheep.

The trip down was harder on the knees, toes, shins, ankles, hamstrings, quads, calves and some unknown muscle groups than going up. My toes squealed under the vertical pressure like a piglet trapped beneath a press. Each step was a calculated move, often ending in an unculculated grimace. But I and therefore we made it.

Fooood! Slops! Fresh T-Shirt! Relaxing time! We took a drive down the road to a local pub. I was the pre-determined designated driver, so I sucked on my shake / coffee / coke and scoffed down my burger whilst gleefully watching the 3 ou toppies gradually become children all over again. Beer seems so much more effective after strenuous activities :D We left about 3 hours or so later (it felt longer) and drove through plenty of small new-hampshire hamlets before coming across a peaceful lake just off the road to nowhere. Drunken Courage prevailed, as the little babies clambered into the warm waters and played dodgems with the trout.

After fending off the increasing number of spectators and getting the kids back into the car, we were finally on the road again. The sun had set a long time ago, so it was after 9PM with 3 hours of driving left.

Those 3 hours passed quick enough, but when we arrived back at the hotel I was bushed. Another hectic weekend under the belt. Did I mention this was a dream? How could a netophile cross gamer geek like me seriously climb a mountain? I'm warped.

Splashing out on music is a good investment

Almost a month ago, I bought:

1. Queens of the Stone Age - Songs for the deaf
2. BT - Movement in Still Life
3. Audioslave - Audioslave
4. Incubus - Morning View
5. Seether - Disclaimer

Of those 5, BT and Incubus stand shoulders above the rest. Movement in still life is an oldish electronica / euro-dance album with tracks as stead-fast as Godspeed and the smack-down Madskillz. Recommended for any listener dreaming of the good old electronica days.
Incubus just can't seem to do any wrong with this album. After buying "Make Yourself" and burning holes in it, this seemed a logical purchase. Pity I missed their concert here in Boston. :/
Audioslave's album is incredible, but filled with nonsense towards the end, probably cos all the popular hits are in the beginning.
Queens of the Stone Age could be deemed repetitive, but they've got awesome riffs and good experi-metal tracks.
Now Seether, eish, these guys have lost that rough diamond sound that made them so good. The production on this US based disc is piss poor in comparison to Saron Gas's Fragile. Its still good though.

What else?

Our return tickets have been booked for the 25^th of July. 7 hours of flying to Frankfurt. No less than 10 hours lay-over in Frankfurt, the worst airport in the world. 11 hours flight back home. I hope I can sleep on the plane.

We'll be back in SA in time for a Consology team-building event which is basically a day at the Kyalami Skid-pan playing with BMW's. After 14 or so days we'll probably be back on a plane to Boston again.